


Step Across The Lines

by PrioritiesSorted



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Bartimaeus Sequence AU, Gen, djinni!Grantaire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-09
Updated: 2016-06-09
Packaged: 2018-07-14 01:02:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7145702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrioritiesSorted/pseuds/PrioritiesSorted
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“So you might say you were eager to bring down the corrupt kyriarchy under which your kind and mine are currently enslaved.” </p><p>“It’s like you took the words right out of my mouth.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Step Across The Lines

**Author's Note:**

  * For [onlyL](https://archiveofourown.org/users/onlyL/gifts).



> So a few months ago Elle said "you should read The Bartimaeus Sequence. Don't you think Bartimaeus is like Grantaire?" 
> 
> Now it's her birthday and I have Done A Thing. 
> 
> Titles from the chapter in Ptolemy's Gate where Kitty summons Bartimaeus.

Enjolras wasn’t nervous. He wasn’t. The pentacle had been checked and checked again, the words of the summoning were clear on the page before him, and Combeferre was waiting just outside the door. He had carried out many such summonings over the past few days, but each of those spirits had been meticulously researched, and even then it was a scant few who wanted to listen to what Enjolras had to say. Now he was preparing to summon something unknown, and had only the word of Joly and Bossuet that they might be sympathetic. 

 

Still, Joly and Bossuet should know better than anyone which spirits might be likely to hear him out, so Enjolras took a deep breath and spoke the words of the summoning. 

 

If he was being honest, Enjolras had been expecting a many eyed demon, or a fearsome minotaur, or something that was at least attempting to intimidate him. Instead, the djinni appeared in the guise of a man, and an ordinary one at that; he was short, stocky, with a mop of unkempt black hair and shrewd dark eyes with deep bags beneath them. He looked like he’d just picked himself up off the pavement outside one of Paris’s seedier bars, and his clothes were rumpled and stained. Enjolras was thrown, just for a moment, but that was all the djinni needed. He smiled, showing a mouth full of browning, crooked teeth.  

 

“The thing about magicians is that you’re all disgustingly vain,” Grantaire said, “I’d wager you were expecting some kind of six foot, hundred eyed, tentacle ridden monstrosity? Very crass, in my opinion, and not nearly as effective as everyone seems to think. In my experience, said tentacle monster will make your average magician much less uncomfortable than an ordinary, ugly human. Especially someone like you.” 

 

Enjolras frowned. This was a step up from the usual immediate death threats, but he knew how to deal with those, this was something new, and Enjolras’s curiosity got the better of him, 

 

“Someone like me?” 

 

“Don’t be coy. The more conventionally attractive the magician, the more they are put off by a guise like this.” Grantaire gestured from Enjolras to his own form. Enjolras had been told by a fair few people that he was attractive, but he didn’t see what bearing that would have on how he interacted with a spirit. 

 

“I must say,” Grantaire continued, “I’m impressed by how much sustained eye contact I’m receiving, perhaps I should have gone for the tentacle monster after all.” 

 

“No, no, I’ve seen quite enough tentacles recently, thank you. This form will do just fine, if you are content with it. I only wish to speak with you.” 

 

Despite this assurance, Grantaire tensed, taking a step back within his pentacle and holding up his hands. 

 

“Look, I don’t have any dirt on anyone in power. If I did then believe me I’d be singing like a canary already. I’m not really a fan of the Shrivelling Fire.” 

 

This seemed promising. The djinni’s hatred of the magicians he’d served was something universal among spirits, but his apparent lack of hostility towards Enjolras suggested that he could just be persuadable. 

 

“So you might say you were eager to bring down the corrupt kyriarchy under which your kind and mine are currently enslaved.” 

 

“It’s like you took the words right out of my mouth,” he replied, every syllable dripping with sarcasm. 

 

“Well so are we. My friends and I are currently working on a scheme to topple the current power structures and implement a new society in which magicians do not rule over commoners, and spirits are no longer used as slaves by those with power. We’ll be able to do that much more effectively with the help of spirits. Work with us for a few months, and live the rest of your life in peace.” 

 

It was much the same as the speeches he’d given to the myriad other spirits he’d summoned, and Grantaire looked no more impressed with it than any of the others had. He snorted.

 

“Right, and you expect me to believe that coming from someone who is at the top of said corrupt kyriarchy?” 

 

“No, but I hope you’ll believe it coming from a commoner. My parents print and bind the books of magic favoured by those in the government. They have so much knowledge and so much skill and yet their lives are seen as so much lesser than the magicians who would be lost without their work, and the work of all commoners. There’s nothing particularly special about magicians, you know, it’s nothing more than education giving them such power. I had access to the same books as any magician’s apprentice, and a summoning is not as hard as magicians like to pretend.”

 

It wasn’t  _ entirely  _ the truth, Lamarque had provided a lot of help that no book ever could. Enjolras had never thought he would meet a man he could describe as a good magician, but when he had delivered Lamarque’s newly bound copy of Ptolomy’s  _ Apocrypha,  _ Enjolras has found the old man entertaining a rowdy group of commoner youths. He hadn’t known it then, but that was the beginning of everything. 

 

“Well that’s all  _ very  _ impressive, I’m sure you’ve had  _ such  _ a struggle-”

 

“I have been fortunate in the scheme of things,” Enjolras continued, preferring to ignore Grantaire’s commentary, “and as such it is my duty to help those who are unable to help themselves.” 

 

Grantaire gave a low whistle, 

 

“ _ Those who are unable to help themselves,  _ eh? Is that what I am, now? A damsel in distress?” He clutched his hands to his heart and affected a high falsetto, batting his eyelashes, “Oh gracious Sir, thanks ever so for deigning to save little old me from the Big Mean Magicians. However shall I repay you, when I have nothing but my young and nubile body.” 

 

Enjolras made a face. 

 

“You know, I had an afrit in here earlier who threatened to  _ pickle my skin,  _ and yet I think this conversation is less pleasant.” 

 

“Oh, you tried to recruit Babet? Bad move, he’s not fond of humans.”   
  


“Yes, I did get that impression.” The skin pickling had actually been one of the least awful threats to be made against Enjolras’s person on that occasion, and Combeferre had scolded him for continuing his futile attempts at persuasion for as long as he had. 

 

“He’s also not the smartest. Not sure he even knows what a kyriarchy is, let alone how to topple one, so I don’t imagine your deeply stirring speeches would have had much effect. Just out of curiosity, have you tried this particular recruitment tactic on many spirits?”

 

“A few,” Enjolras told him. In truth it had been over twenty, thirteen of which had tried to kill him, five of which had simply laughed, and two of which had, miraculously, agreed. 

 

“And how many have joined your ranks?” 

 

“Two.” Enjolras admitted. Jehan had told him repeatedly that two was really more than anyone could reasonably have expected, but Enjolras couldn’t help feeling a little put out by the spirit community’s lack of revolutionary fervour. 

 

“Two?” Grantaire gave a low whistle,  “I’m impressed. Who?” 

 

“One was Joly and I summoned the other as Lesgles but he answers to Bossuet.” 

 

“I don’t know why I’m surprised, they always were soft.” Grantaire said. His tone was something approaching fond, though, and it sparked a little hope. “Is Bousset still going around as a bald eagle?” 

 

“Yes.”

 

Grantaire snorted. 

 

“He thinks he’s funny.” 

 

“It was the two of them who recommended I try summoning you,” Enjolras said, as casually as he could muster. “They must have thought you’d have at least a little sympathy for the cause.” 

 

Grantaire only shrugged, 

 

“I killed a particularly violent master of Joly’s once. It’s given him a higher opinion of me than my general activity really warrants.” 

 

Enjolras couldn’t deny he was surprised, he’d pegged Grantaire thus far as the sort of djinni who spent his time looking for loopholes in orders and doing the bare minimum to avoid being punished. Which was probably still true, but this other dimension was unexpected. 

 

“Still, it’s something. You care about your friends, I assume you care about yourself. What’s the problem here? It’s hardly because you have an issue with the concept, and I know you’re smart enough to realise that the benefits outweigh the risks.” 

 

“Do they, though? I mean this utopia you’re going to create sounds delightful and all, but the thing is, you’re still human: you’ve still summoned me, you know my name, I am in your power. I’ve seen revolutions like this before, thwarted a few, albeit unwillingly. But the ones that actually succeeded, well, their high morals didn’t last long once they were actually in power. How do I know you aren’t just the same, that if I help you defeat the magicians, you won’t go back on your word?” 

 

It was a valid question, Enjolras had to admit, but he could tell Grantaire was interested, and he wasn’t about to let a (deeply irritating) level four djinni slip through his fingers. It was risky, Enjolras knew, and Combeferre would have a fit if knew Enjolras was even considering it, but it was the only option Enjolras could see. He took a deep breath. 

 

“Enjolras,” he said, and his voice only shook a little.    
  


“Bless you,” said Grantaire.

 

“No, that’s my name.” 

 

Of all the things to finally shut Grantaire up, Enjolras hadn’t expected it to be that. The djinni stared at him for a few long seconds before he said, 

 

“I still can’t tell if that was stupidly idealistic, or just plain stupid.” 

 

“Thank you.”

 

“That wasn’t a compliment.” 

 

“It’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

 

“Fair enough. It definitely was stupid, though.” 

 

Perhaps it was. But Enjolras was too tired to care, and if it won him Grantaire’s allegiance, then it might just be worth it. 

 

“It wasn’t stupid if it worked,” he said, “Are you happy, now? If I do go back on my promises, you’ve got the power to resist me, even to destroy me. Is that enough for you?” His temper was fraying, and Enjolras knew it showed in his voice, but he was tired, and Grantaire was annoying. The headache he had been studiously ignoring for days was pounding insistently against his temples, and Grantaire was, apparently, still not satisfied.  

 

“I don’t  _ know  _ though. What if that’s not your real name? What if this is all an elaborate ruse to catch unwary djinn who dream of freedom?” 

 

“Because a mid-level djinni would be at the top of the list of threats for a government armed to the teeth with much more powerful spirits.” 

 

“You know that hurt. That’s very hurtful. If I were at liberty to leave and not trapped in this pentacle of slavery, I would leave this very moment and slam the door behind me.” 

 

That was it. Enjolras snapped. 

 

“Fine. Go. I’m not going to keep you here. Stay out of it until another magician calls you up and makes you do his dirty work, and another, and another. You say you value your own skin but how do you know the next person to summon you won’t order you to your death? There’ll be nothing you can do about it then, it’s death on his orders or death at his hand. Sounds delightful, I wish you all the best.” 

 

Enjolras began the words of the dismissal, but he’d barely got the first line out before Grantaire shouted, 

 

“Wait! Wait.”

 

“Yes?” 

 

Grantaire’s expression was almost approaching contrite, and Enjolras’s heart beat just a little faster. If Grantaire would only say the words, only admit that he wanted in, then Enjolras might sleep easy. 

 

“Much as it pains me to admit it, you might have a point. And… well I’ve been around the block a few hundred times and I’ve never met anyone like you.”

 

Coming from Grantaire, Enjolras wasn’t completely sure if that was a good thing. 

 

“So you’ll help us?” 

 

“I suppose that’s what I’m saying. I’m not doing anything stupid though. Don’t expect any heroics.” 

 

Enjolras smiled, 

 

“I wouldn’t dream of it. I’ll be in touch when our plans are more concrete. In the meantime I won’t make you stay, I know you’re in pain.” 

 

Once again, he began the words of the dismissal, only to be interrupted. 

 

“What if someone else summons me? I know your name. Aren’t you going to threaten me with eternal encasement in a silver box or something if I blab?” Grantaire looked as though he regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth, but Enjolras only shrugged, 

 

“No, I trust you.” 

 

“I… okay, yeah. And before I go, you might want to try Gavroche. He’s an imp but he’s smarter than most djinn I know so…” 

 

“Thank you.” 

 

“Whatever.” Grantaire shrugged and waved his hand to indicate Enjolras should continue with the dismissal. The now familiar words rolled off Enjolras’s tongue, and Grantaire gave an ironic little salute before he disappeared in cloud of alcoholic vapour, leaving Enjolras coughing in its wake. 

 

Combeferre was through the door before the last of the smoke had cleared, taking Enjolras by the elbow and rubbing his back. 

 

“That’s enough summonings for you today,” he said, and for once Enjolras agreed. “Did it go well, though? Will he fight?” 

 

Enjolras wasn’t sure how to answer that one. He trusted Grantaire not to betray him, but not that the djinni would be of any real use. He settled for nodding and saying, 

 

“He’s with us. Can you look up an imp named Gavroche? Apparently he’d be an asset.” 

 

“I’ll do that just as soon as you’re in bed. I’ll let the others know how it went.” 

 

He didn’t really need Combeferre’s guiding hand on his arm as the two made their way downstairs, but he was reluctant to shake him off all the same. He knew he’d been leaning more heavily on his friends of late, trusting them to make plans and rally other commoners while he shut himself away summoning spirits. It wouldn’t do to seem ungrateful for all they’d done, and all the support they’d given him. 

 

Once the door to bedroom closed behind him, and Enjolras collapsed onto his thin mattress, sleep took him quickly. As his eyes slid shut, he remembered the last look Grantaire had given him: confused and wary, but there was a smile tugging at his lips which Enjolras liked to think was hope. If it was, the feeling was entirely mutual. 

  
  
  
  
  



End file.
